


Aim & Focus

by lanapanda



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: IronHawk - Freeform, M/M, One-Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanapanda/pseuds/lanapanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony Stark can't figure out a way to de-stress and get his mind back on the job, Clint comes up with a very creative solution. Set after the Avengers, and prior to IM3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aim & Focus

**Author's Note:**

> With many <3s to Zalia, whose Clint inspires all my fic versions of the character.

Tony Stark had taken 272 steps in the last fifteen minutes. Clint had counted them. Twenty-three steps to the bar. Another fifteen to look at the readouts on a screen. Seventy-six random steps, weaving between furniture while holding a glass of scotch in one hand and paperwork in the other.

From the television (that Stark wasn’t paying attention to, despite not letting Clint change the channel) to the balcony was another fifty-eight steps, but only because Stark had gone back to the bar on the way. And it took him exactly one-hundred steps to get back inside from the balcony, because he paced the perimeter three times and then took a step back to examine the leaves on one of his potted plants.

On step 273, Clint looked Tony in the eye and said, “Why not just ask the guy to come back?”

“What?” Tony looked up from the papers, eyebrows raised.

“Banner. Your partner in crime. Your BFF. The guy you’ve been sighing over for the last two weeks,” Clint said with a smirk. “Why not just go to India and ask him to come back?”

“First off, I have _not_ been sighing over Dr. Banner for two weeks. What I am is frustrated over the energy fluctuations in this Chitauri weaponry that I am absolutely not agreeing to reactivate for you. Secondly, why are you still here, Barton?” Tony knocked back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass on the table.

“Because I’m on billionaire babysitting duty until Coulson gets out of recovery. And because you haven’t slept in three days.” Clint half-shrugged. “And you’re frustrated because you lack focus.”

“They teach you psychoanalysis at super secret spy school?” Tony asked. It irritated him a little, the way Barton was sprawled across his couch like a bad cat. He didn’t wear the typical suit like every other SHIELD agents. Instead, dressed in a soft white cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded, well-worn jeans, Clint looked just as casual as Tony did, just as comfortable with his surroundings.

Like he belonged there, somehow.

Clint smiled and there was that shrug again. “No, but I’m really good at people watching. And I’ve been watching you for two weeks now, Stark. You’re unfocused. Also tired, but mostly unfocused and until you wind yourself down, you’re probably never going to figure it out.”

“So, what — you going to put me to bed?” Tony smirked. It sounded suggestive, but he didn’t really care. SHIELD had been jerking him around for years now, wanting his tech but not wanting to deal with him. They deserved some occasional taunting. It irked Tony a little more when Clint didn’t seem fazed by the suggestion. Like he routinely put other men to bed and considered it part of the job description. Hell, for all Tony knew, it _was_ part of Barton’s job description.

“Tempting, but you wouldn’t stay in it unless I sedated you,” Clint said with another slow smile. “But I bet I could get you to focus.”

“You think so?” Tony asked, one eyebrow raised this time. “How?”

“You have a practice range set up here?” Clint asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Two floors down, yeah.”

“Meet me there in twenty minutes and I’ll show you.”

 

—————————————————————————————————

 

Once he was actually down there, Tony had no idea why he’d agreed to come to the practice range. It was a separate section off from the gym and the rec room, but Tony wasn’t in the mood to work out and he certainly wasn’t in the mood to watch Hawkeye do arrow tricks.

Not that there were any tricks to be had when Tony first arrived. The practice range was empty, quiet. Tony ran a hand through his hair and paced near the door. _You’ve got another five minutes before I bail, Barton,_ Tony thought to himself. Exactly three minutes later, the vent in the far corner of the wall slid out of place and a duffel bag dropped gently onto the padded mat underneath it. Tony tilted his head and watched as Clint followed, feet first.

There was a moment where Clint was just hanging there from the vent, arms flexed, shirt riding up just enough to get a glimpse of his abs and the pale golden happy trail that stood out against his tan skin. Tony’s mouth went dry, and he took a deep breath before he spoke. “Cute, Barton. Normal people typically use the door.”

“Normal people are boring, Stark. You have very clean vents in this place by the way — I like the maintenance robots.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t fire the lasers.”

“They don’t really have lasers, do they?” Clint asked as he dropped down to the mat, landing in a crouch before standing up and grabbing his gear.

“They will after today.”

Clint rolled his eyes and huffed. “Fine. Whatever. Are you ready to get started or what?”

“You expect me to watch you shoot and have some sort of weapon-related epiphany?” Tony shook his head. “Look, no offense but I’m really busy —”

“No, you’re just _pretending_ to be really busy because you aren’t getting anywhere,” Clint didn’t look up as he unpacked the bow. This one was a compound bow, a 60lb max draw that he took the time to adjust down to 50lbs after sparing Tony a glance. “And you aren’t going to be watching me shoot. I’m going to show _you_ how to shoot,” Clint said as he slung the quiver onto his back.

“What makes you think I want to learn how to shoot a bow?”

“You don’t. But you do need to focus and this will do it,” Clint said and he beckoned Tony over with one hand.

Tony sighed and moved to join Clint in front of one of the targets. “Alright, fine. Ten minutes.”

“You want a full lesson in ten minutes, Stark? Alright.” Clint handed Tony the bow.

Tony held the bow in one hand, lifting his arm to get a line of sight on it. The whole premise seemed simple enough. Draw, aim, release - right? But then Clint’s hands were running over Tony’s arms, and the callouses on the other man’s fingertips raised goosebumps across Tony’s bare skin. Involuntary reaction to having someone touch him unexpectedly, he told himself. Nothing to do with the way that flash of memory from moments earlier — Clint’s arms and the flex of his abs before he dropped to the floor — nothing to do with the way that replayed through Tony’s mind as he felt the other male step up behind him.

“Turn your hips, Stark,” Clint murmured just behind one of Tony’s ears. “You want your body in a straight line. You’ll be pulling 50 pounds through the draw, but your hold weight will only be about 15 — that’s what it’ll feel like you’re holding when you have the arrow nocked and ready to fire. So things get tense…” He paused, and put his hands on Tony’s hips, turning him a little more. Hips, abs, chest, shoulders, arms — all in a straight line. Clint ran one hand across Tony’s chest and down to one hip so that he could feel it, so that he understood. “…then they relax a bit.”

“No arrow yet, Barton,” Tony’s voice was a little lower, just a shade rougher when he spoke.

“We’re getting there,” Clint replied. He put his hand over Tony’s and showed him how to hold the bow to one side. Still standing right behind him, Clint took an arrow out of the quiver and held it in front of them both before he spoke again. “Arrow goes like this — there’s that one feather that’s a different color. You want it pointing towards you… good.”

Tony had no idea how he managed to nock the arrow, not with Clint’s warm breath stirring against his ear. It was a moment of suspended reality. Mentally, he knew he shouldn’t be reacting like this. There was no reasoning behind it, unless three days of no sleep and a distinct lack of physical contact amounted to a reason.

Regardless, Tony’s body ignored the logic of it. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, almost drowning out Clint’s words. He was hyper-aware of every spot where their bodies touched - Clint’s hand over his own, the brief touch of the other man’s lips against his ear when he said the word ‘relax’. He was also hyper-aware of every spot where their bodies _almost_ touched, and it was maddening the way Clint’s hips would just barely graze him as they stood there. Tony licked his lips and asked, “Now what?”

Clint could see the flush of warmth rising across Tony’s skin, and he caught a whiff of his cologne too, warm like brandy and apples and cinnamon. Clint took a moment to savor that, to enjoy the warmth and proximity and let it roll over him in a slow spiral of pleasure. “Now you draw back. Feel the tension in the string. Bring it to your lips — you want to _kiss_ it. And your eyes… should stay on the target ahead of you. Quick physics lesson, Stark,” Clint practically purred the words into Tony’s ear. He was starting to get hard, just from watching Tony’s reactions and hearing the way his breathing quickened every time Clint gave him a new fact to digest. “When you let go of the arrow, it’s going to be traveling at around one hundred and fifty miles per hour. Gravity acts on it though, and it’s going to drag it down. You lose 9.80 meters per second, squared.”

Tony tried to speak, to say something to the effect of ‘I understand’ or even ‘okay’ but words had fled. Clint was pressed right against his back now, and he was hard. Hard enough that Tony could imagine the pulse of Clint’s cock through those jeans and right against his ass. Hard enough that it should have been awkward and he should have been trying to put some space between them or anything other than standing still and letting that continual stimulation drive him mad. Instead, Tony tried to ignore the ache of his own arousal and how his pants suddenly felt much too tight. He didn’t speak, but he did change the aim of the arrow, canting it upwards to adjust for gravity.

“Perfect,” Clint breathed into Tony’s ear and then nipped it for good measure.

Focus. Tony suddenly knew what that felt like. Everything in the world had disappeared except for the feel of Clint’s hands and body against his own, his warm breath and whispered words, and a target several yards away. Clint nipped his ear and Tony groaned, letting the arrow fly in that same moment, both eyes wide with surprise at that sudden flare of lust.

The arrow struck just at the rim of the bullseye, and Clint kissed the nape of Tony’s neck. “Good job, Stark. Want another?”

Tony found his voice then, though the pleasure had taken it half an octave lower when he spoke. “Fuck you, Barton. Yeah, I want another.”

Clint laughed and passed Tony another arrow. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Being able to focus on something, to let it just… happen. The way it makes your muscles ache afterwards though, that’s probably the best part.” Clint ran his hands over Tony’s chest again, then down over his abs and lower, deliberately grazing the outline of Tony’s cock with his fingernails. “Your form is really good for a beginner, Stark. I’m definitely impressed.”

“Glad you approve,” Tony had managed not to moan through sheer force of will, but goddamnit he wanted that touch again, and more. He took another deep breath and nocked the arrow, drew, aimed.

The first time he hit the bullseye properly, Clint unfastened Tony’s pants and slid a hand inside, stroking him slowly. He didn’t stop, not even when he handed Tony yet another arrow.

Five minutes passed. Five minutes of slow, almost torturous stroking. Five minutes of barely being able to breathe. Five minutes before he remembered how to focus well enough that the arrows didn’t go wide of their target.

The second time Tony managed to hit the bullseye, Clint pushed Tony’s pants down a little further. He moved, saying “I think you’ve got it now,” as he knelt down in front of Tony and ran his tongue along the underside of Tony’s hard cock.

When Tony moaned his name, Clint thought it was like a hand squeezing his cock — the pleasure felt just that intense, that sudden. He wanted nothing more than to make Tony Stark say his name, over and over, just like that. Rough with pleasure and need, and with anger at being made to feel that way — yes, Clint wanted to hear the anger, too.

Because the anger sharpened his focus. Made Tony feel it more, and want it more. Clint could taste it, when he let his tongue roll over the head of Tony’s cock, and he could hear it when Tony swore at him, and he knew it as well as breathing when he heard another arrow sliding out of the quiver.

_Fuck you, Barton. Yeah, I want another._

But the next time he moaned, it was “Clint” that was on his lips and against his skin and in his mind. Every time Tony had to look down to get the next arrow, there was that moment of weakness, of seeing Clint’s lips tight around his hard cock, and feeling his tongue as it left slick trails of heat at its wake. It was ‘Clint’ because Tony’s knees were going to give out, because he could barely breathe, because he wanted to tangle both hands in that short blond hair and never let go.

Instead, Tony exhaled little panting breaths, like he was in pain instead of the most exquisite pleasure he’d ever felt. And he nocked another arrow. Because goddamnit, he wanted another. He wanted all of it. Everything.

The last arrow felt hot against Tony’s fingertips, slick because his hands were sweating. He was trembling with the effort of holding his form. Clint was moaning now, sucking at him and making Tony’s mind go blank in sharp flashes of pleasure that left him wondering if he might pass out.

He was definitely going to come. Definitely couldn’t hold out against the heat and the wetness and the deliberate pull of suction all tormenting him at once. Tony’s eyes closed. He forced them open again. To see the target. Draw the bow. Kiss the string. Breathe. Aim. Focus.

_Release_.

 


End file.
